Pat Kelleher: The Ironclad Prophecy

They followed the paths through the jungle, bypassing the Gilderra enclave.

“Shouldn’t think they’d be too pleased to see us,” said Mercy.

“We got rid of the evil spirit, didn’t we?” said Porgy.

“And the tankers cost ’em one shaman and got their replacement killed. I expect Napoo would have something to say about that,” Pot Shot informed them.

“Oh, aye,” said Porgy. “No doubt.”

Atkins had plenty of time to mull over all that had happened in the past few days, and figure out how he was going to tell Lieutenant Everson.

He worried about the awful truth behind the Bleeker Party. It was a terrible secret he was asking his men to keep and he wondered what kind of price it would exact, not just on 1 Section, but also on the rest of the Battalion. That burden would soon belong to Lieutenant Everson.

But there was hope, too. Well, hope of a kind. He felt the button in his pocket, rubbed his thumb over the raised casting. Atkins had to believe there was a way back to Flora — and his child. He had to put that right, even though it might cost him everything else.

Right now, though, the fear of not knowing what he’d find back at camp drove Atkins on, and he kept the pace up. They had done forced marches before and nobody complained this time. They all wanted to get back, even though none of them knew what was waiting for them.

EDITH BELL WAS in the Bird Cage with Stanton, the orderly. They were gathering up the personal possessions of all those killed by the parasitic infection, the patients she had nursed for the past three months. The place was vacant, depressing and forlorn now. Blankets and discarded mess kits littered the ground. The emptiness was heartbreaking.

She saw Captain Lippett making his way across the parade ground towards the compound. He was the last person she wanted to see right now. She put another blanket on the pile and pretended not to notice him.

He approached and looked at her in that brusque surgeon’s matter-of-fact manner. “I thought you ought to know, Nurse, Miller died less than an hour ago.”

Edith replied in a similarly sterile manner. “Thank you, Doctor.” Edith had steeled herself for the news since she had brought him in, but you always hoped. Thinking that was it, she returned to her task.

However, Lippett had more to say. “I couldn’t have operated without killing him. We have no anaesthetic. I’m reduced to the level of a Crimean butcher here, which is a wholly unsatisfactory state of affairs, as I’m sure you’ll admit. And even if I could have removed those parasites from his bowels, I doubt whether I could have done the same to those attached to his nervous system without inflicting great damage and pain.”

“I understand that, doctor.”

Lippett opened his arms. “I’m not an ogre, Nurse. Being stranded here, trying to be everything to everyone… I wanted to be a surgeon, not an army butcher. I can’t do everything and I realise I need staff who can think for themselves, who see things I can’t. Fenton tells me I have such a woman in you, should I but care to listen.”

His openness took Edith aback. Her reaction must have shown on her face.

He coughed to cover his discomfort. “This is a new situation for all of us, Nurse Bell, and something we’re going to have to learn to cope with.”

She wasn’t sure whether he was talking about their general circumstances, here on the planet, or more specifically, his having to listen to a nurse for once. Either way, she gracefully accepted the compliment.

“On another note, Nurse, if you’re right, and this neurasthenia is the result of emotional shock, then we shall doubtless have more of these cases as men fail to cope. The war may no longer affect them, but this hell of a world may, and we can’t send them down the line for convalescence so there is no relief from it. If you want more responsibility, I’d like you to set up a special ward for them. None of this barbed wire, eh? At least that way they won’t come back to you more injured than when they left if they escape.” Lippett smiled stiffly. He was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go and report my findings to Lieutenant Everson.”

Edith curtseyed. “Yes, Doctor.”

Despite her grief, she walked away taller and straighter, with a renewed vitality she hadn’t felt in a long time. She took a deep breath and smiled. She already had ideas.

WALKING ACROSS THE fractured plain, back towards the canyon, Atkins and 1 Section saw the unmistakable shape of Tulliver’s aeroplane above, no doubt searching for them. Atkins frowned. Everson must be anxious if he allowed Tulliver up in the air. The pilot waggled his wings in response to their frantic hat waving and headed home. It was a cheering sight. If nothing else, it meant the encampment was still there. It hadn’t vanished back to Earth without them.

On the other hand, it dismayed Atkins. Everson would know now that they didn’t have the tank with them and that failure ate away at him.

Atkins and the others were shocked when they came over the valley head and looked down into the encampment. He had to be honest, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but to see the churned and trampled ground below them was quite a blow. Even Chandar let out long low hiss at the sight of the devastated trenches.

At first, Atkins thought it was the result of the battle with the Khungarrii, and then he saw the burning pyres of animal corpses and the body of the dead Kreothe, splayed along the valley like a washed up jellyfish at low tide. The veldt beyond, what they could see of it, had fared little better. However, there was no sign of the chatt army that had occupied it scant days ago. He shook his head in disbelief. Myriad questions tumbled through his mind and he was eager for answers.

As they made their way down the hillside and along the valley towards the encampment, Atkins saw fatigue parties at work, repairing trenches and wire.

“Eh, up. It’s King Arthur returned from his latest quest,” jeered one working party NCO. “Found the Holy Grail then, have you lad?”

“One of your admirers?” asked Porgy.

SERGEANT HOBSON MET Atkins and escorted him straight to Battalion HQ. “Good to have you back, lad.”

“Glad to be back, Sarn’t. What happened here?”

“What hasn’t happened, more like. I’m sure the Lieutenant will tell you all about it. He’s anxious to hear your report.”

Atkins avoided Hobson’s eyes. “I expect Tulliver has told him.”

“Maybe, but he’s waiting to hear it from you.”

Atkins knocked on the doorjamb to the battalion HQ dugout.

“Come!”

He stepped inside and stood to attention before the Lieutenant’s desk. Everson was writing in the Battalion War Journal; he’d have a lot more to write once Atkins had given his report. “At ease, Corporal.” He finished writing, and then looked up. “Where’s my tank, Atkins?” Everson could tell from the Corporal’s face that it wasn’t good news. He sighed. “You’d better tell me everything.”

Atkins did. He told him about the canyon and the mysterious metal wall. He explained about the Gilderra enclave and the evil spirit, but kept back Mathers’ worst excesses.

Everson nodded and waved them away. “It’s all right. I can’t say I’m surprised. Mathers always struck me as a bit windy. Hid it well, though.”

Atkins frowned. “Sir?”

“We had an infection here. Some sort of parasite, the MO says. It affected the shell-shocked; their weakened minds were apparently more suggestible to the parasites. The infected act as if they’re possessed. I suppose they were. They’re all dead, now, the shell-shocked. Seems this parasite needs its hosts to be eaten by the those Kreothe things in order to ‘continue its life cycle’ or some such,” Everson paused and let out a sigh. “Lippett thinks the parasites’ main host is probably the chatts and they wouldn’t have been infected if they hadn’t marched here to fight us, foraging for food on the way.